Valinor: Coming Home
by Ocarina Rune Scholar
Summary: This is the fic that's replacing Valinor: Leaving You Behind until I work it out...sorry, guys...just read, some MAJOR angst here!!! (Finished w/ Epilogue)
1. Namárië...

I felt homicidal when I wrote this part...but I swear that the next part is better! Sam-fans, do not despair...there is always hope... –ORS

Disclaimer (which I _always forget): I own exactly one character in this whole chapter, and that's Londë...I don't own the word, however, nor any other characters in the story._

***

On a warm spring morning in Valinor, a figure sat silently on a rock overlooking the sea. Its size suggested a hobbit, but its face, pale and fair, suggested an elf. His eyes, an unusually clear blue, stared vacantly at the restless seas; his lips were pressed tightly together.

"Still here, little master?"

The hobbit smiled faintly, but did not turn.

"Haldir, my friend, you know better than to ask that."

A golden-haired elf joined the first figure on the rock.

"He may not come, Frodo. Mortals are only mortals."

"I know."

A puff of sea air rolled over them. Frodo's dark curls stirred, but it was easy to see that the tears in his eyes were from more than the salt air.

"Mithrandir is worried about you, and so is Galadriel."

"I know," said Frodo again. Haldir blinked in surprise.

"All right, Frodo, what is it? You'll let everyone worry themselves to death while you wait for a hobbit that might never come?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Frodo shifted his empty gaze to the curious elf.

"Because...I can't... He gently brushed a tear from his cheek. "...Can't be...alone..."

"I understand-"

"_No," said Frodo forcefully; the elf jumped. "...No, Haldir," the hobbit continued, much more gently. "You could never understand, my friend. You elves are happy here because you came from Valinor, but I cannot find rest just yet. One thing remains... My happiness lies in him, Haldir. I will wait."_

He stared broodingly out to sea.

"It's strange, but...I sometimes feel that he is already with me." With a futile swipe at his multiplying tears, he added, "He's...a _part of me, Haldir. I...I can feel his presence, but it just hurts more."_

"Hurts!" exclaimed Haldir incredulously. "Here?!"

"Yes." Frodo clenched his fist despairingly. "I want to be with him. I _need to be with him. I need __him. It's an ache in my heart – this longing for him."_

The elf looked rather puzzled.

"You..._need him?"_

"Yes." He allowed a few more tears to escape. "I love him, Haldir. The years have not dimmed my love, but strengthened it."

Haldir had just began to reply when a clear call split the air.

"The ship! The _Alqua has returned!"_

Hope flashed in Frodo's face as he leapt up.

"Easy, little one!" cautioned Haldir. "What if he isn't on the ship?"

"What if he is?" was the only reply as the hobbit sprinted down the path toward the harbor.

***

"Sam! _Sam!"_

The elves unloading the ship paused in their work to see the cause of this abrupt disturbance.

It was, of course, Frodo Baggins, hurtling toward them at Mach 10. He made a beeline for the elf in charge, Londë.

Once he had reached the dock, he panted, "He's here, isn't he? Have you brought him at last?" An aura of hope surrounded him; he positively glowed.

Londë smiled enigmatically. Frodo looked wildly around, searching for the missing piece of his soul.

"Sam! Samwise Gamgee! It's Frodo calling – where _are you?"_

When the hobbit was not looking, Londë signaled to another elf, who had been crouching behind a stack of crates. She came out of her hiding place, cradling a small, limp form in her arms.

"Peace, Frodo son of Drogo," ordered Londë. "The one whom you seek did set sail with us."

"Then where is he?" Frodo clasped his hands pleadingly. "Oh, Londë, please tell me!"

"Patience!" The elf looked solemnly at him. "Three days into our journey, he took ill – seriously ill. We had not the skill to heal him while at sea."

"Ill? ...You couldn't heal him?" Sudden fear gripped his heart. "Is he...?"

"He is not dead."

The elf who had been hidden stepped forward. Frodo gasped as Londë said sadly:

"He is dying."

***

...a blur of color

a face

too fuzzy to see

a voice he knew...

"Sam? Oh, Sam, dear Sam, can you hear me?"

...Frodo!

too far away

couldn't see

couldn't sea

sea? hmm...

"Samwise Gamgee!"

...too far away

he could not respond

too far...

"Sam, Samwise, can you hear me?"

...yes, but he was too far away

where was Frodo...?

"Oh, Sam, please wake up! You can't die – not when we're together at last!"

...his eyes were clearing

Frodo looked panicked

why?

was he truly dying...?

"Sam, my beloved Sam, please!"

...a drop fell on his forehead

it was hot, very hot

then a kiss in the same spot...

"You can't die, Sam – I couldn't bear it!"

...his master was weeping over him

he _must be dying..._

"Oh, Sam, dearest, at least speak to me, one last time!"

...speak to him?

why not...?

"Sam!"

"...Master?"

"Sam! Oh, my dear beloved Sam!"

...another hot kiss upon his forehead

everything was in watercolor

was he weeping, too...?

"I'm...sorry..."

"For what, Sam?"

"To...leave you..."

"No! You can't die, Sam! You _can't!"_

"I'm sorry, master..."

"Sam, listen to me. We're taking you to Elrond – he'll know what to do. Don't die, love, please don't! Elrond can heal you, but you have to stay alive until we reach him."

...darkness was falling

Frodo was dimming, fading...

"It's not use...my poor master...I can't help it... everything's going dark, Mr. Frodo."

"Oh, no, Sam!"

...and hand was stroking his forehead

it was cool

it felt wonderful...

"I had...always hoped...to die in your arms..."

"Sam, _no!"_

...a soft caress

so very gentle

tender...

"Sam...I can't live without you...I can't lose you just when I have you again!"

"Oh, master...I'm so very sorry..."

...everything was gray

then darker gray...

"Sam! _Sam!"_

"...I love you."

...black

***

Rest in peace, Samwise son of Hamfast...until the next chapter, at least. Nobody kill me.


	2. Mára Aurë! (Good/Fitting/Useful Day!)

***

"Elrond?"

"Not now, Galadriel."

The Morning Star followed the former master of Imladris down the path in the greensward.

"But, Elrond-"

"I'm sorry, Galadriel, but I can't talk now. I promised Celeborn that I'd meet him and Gandalf at the west end – I ought to be there now!"

"_Master Elrond!_"

Elrond stopped short and turned to Galadriel.

"Yes?"

"The _Alqua_ has arrived."

"Wonderful." He turned to go, but the lady grabbed his arm.

"Please, Elrond, _listen_! One of the passengers was the hobbit Samwise Gamgee."

"Oh? Good. How is he?"

"He is dead."

Elrond face-faulted.

"_What_?!"

"Dead, Elrond. He died in Frodo's arms at the harbor."

"But how did you-"

"My new Mirror."

Without another word, the Loremaster took off eastward at full speed.

Faintly from the woods came the cry, "Tell your husband that I'll be a little late!"

***

"…I don't know what to say, Frodo. It's a great shock for all of us."

Frodo did not respond. Gandalf sighed and began again.

"I know how hard this is for you, especially after waiting for so long…"

"Oh, leave him in peace!" ordered Galadriel. "His grief is beyond us all, Mithrandir. And, do not forget, Elrond thinks there is still hope."

"Forgive me, my lady, but Elrond is hurt that anyone has passed beyond his aid in Valinor. I would not rely on his council in this mater."

"False hope is better than no hope at all!" retorted the elf-queen. "And while we have hope, we shall cling to it until the bitter end!"

The wizard shook his head sadly.

"High hopes lead to great disappointments."

"I have no hope," said Frodo bitterly.

"There is always hope," Galadriel reminded him.

"Not for me." Scrambling to his feet, Frodo ran away from the hill and the house built into it, away from where Elrond labored to restore life to a certain hobbit.

Gandalf started after him, but Galadriel laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"It is beyond us," she said softly. "We cannot understand, you and I."

"Oh, cabbages," scoffed the wizard. "Do not lump me in with your race. I have some inkling of hobbit grief."

The round green door – much like the door of Bag End – creaked in protest as it swung open. Elrond smiled wearily, pale but triumphant.

"He lives."

Galadriel looked sidelong at Gandalf, who ignored her.

"I still do not know what illness he has," continued Elrond, "or how to cure him, but-" He looked around. "Where is Frodo?"

"He ran away."

"He what?"'

"I expect he was discouraged," said Galadriel seriously.

Gandalf snorted.

"Discouraged? …Oh, never mind." The Loremaster beckoned them inside. "Come, see him."

"Gladly." The wizard walked into the house. Galadriel followed close behind, and Elrond shut the door behind them.

The hill-house was really just a three-roomed affair; it featured a small kitchen and dining room, with a little bedroom above. It was Elrond's residence, and its light came from candles in the bedroom, a lamp in the kitchen, and the elf-ring Vilya mounted in the dining room. The trio went directly upstairs to the bedchamber.

The room itself was very plain – by elf standards. Only a few richly-carved wooden panels decorated the walls, and the wooden framework of the bed had just a little silver inlay. The white sheets that currently covered Sam had only three inches of embroidery at the top hem, and just a little gold thread had been used. The _mithril_ candelabra had only a little rune-work in black metal on its base.

Gandalf went directly to the hobbit's side.

"Samwise Gamgee!"

Sam's eyes flew open. Elrond frowned.

"You should sleep, Samwise son of Hamfast. You are not yet healed."

"I…I guess not…" Sam lifted his head a little. "But I feel a sight better than before. Less dizzy and weak, you know." He observed who his visitors were and smiled faintly. "Mr. Gandalf! Lady Galadriel! Bless my buttons, but I didn't expect to see either of you again!"

"Oh, Gandalf," said the exasperated Loremaster, "I went through all this trouble to restore him, then _more_ trouble to put him to sleep, and you have to wake him up again!"

"Don't fret, sir, it's all right." The hobbit glanced around. "Begging your pardon, but where's Mr. Frodo?"

"Gandalf drove him off," said Galadriel sweetly.

"Fiddlesticks," the wizard mumbled. Sam looked crestfallen.

"I'll fetch him back," offered Elrond. "I _am_ the youngest."

Once he had gone, Sam grinned.

"Youngest? I suppose it's true for you three, but he could be my gaffer's grandsire's great-great-great-great-great-grandfather's uncle, by your leave."

Gandalf laughed; Sam was painfully reminded of those few times, on the long road to Mordor, when his master had laughed.

"How's Mr. Frodo been?" he asked anxiously. "He was so… _changed_… when he left, and I only saw him for a moment before I blacked out."

Galadriel smiled broadly.

"Back from the dead, Master Samwise, and already asking after Frodo?" She turned to Gandalf. "I _like_ this hobbit!"

***

"…Frodo? Is that you?"

There was no reply. Elen crept into the thicket where she expected to find the hobbit.

"Oh, Frodo…"

The elf felt her heart melt at the sight of the silently weeping hobbit. She sat by him and put a comforting arm around his quivering shoulders.

"It's all right, Frodo. It'll be all right."

Frodo did not yield to her embrace.

"Leave me."

"But, Frodo-"

"Please, Elen."

"Frodo, you can't lock everyone out. You can't be alone."

"I _am_ alone!"

Elen cringed at his harsh tone. The hobbit turned his back to her.

"I have lost my last reason for living in the land of immortality. Just – just leave me alone, all right?" Slumping forward, he abandoned himself to his grief.

"Oh, my poor hobbit…" Elen bent over him and stroked his forehead gently. "Have you bid him farewell?"

"…No…It's too hard, Elen, much too hard."

"Nevertheless-" She stopped short and grinned. "What a fun word! Anyway, you really ought to."

Reluctantly, Frodo let her help him to his feet.

"Elen, my friend, sometimes you're more hobbit than elf."

"And you're more elf than hobbit," she retorted. "Come on, we're not far from Elrond's."

***

"You _said_ we weren't far!"

"Oh, shut up. It's your own fault, running off without even looking around or seeing how far you went."

"Bothersome elf."

The barely-audible sound of leaves bending and crackling underfoot reached their ears. Frodo stopped short.

"It's…one of them…" He looked imploringly at Elen. "I don't want to speak to them, just yet."

"Oh, all right." The elf glanced around. "Just sit behind this tree with your back against it. I'll talk to him and send him off."

"Thank you!"

When Elrond arrived at the spot, he found Elen leaning against a tree, apparently deep in thought.

"Mára aurë, Elen."

"Oh, mára aurë, Master Elrond." She smiled wanly. "I'm on my way to see a dead hobbit."

"Really? There aren't any dead hobbits in Valinor – unless Frodo killed himself, the little fool."

In his hiding place, Frodo stiffened.

"B-but…" stammered Elen. "I saw him! I held him as he was dying! I watched him die in Frodo's arms!"

"My dear silly child, if you're referring to Samwise Gamgee, you're much mistaken. That hobbit fell into a coma at the harbor, and I took the liberty of restoring him."

A flash of dark brown streaked by them. Though neither elf could properly see the hobbit, they could hear his joyful shout.

"He's alive! Praise the White Lady, he's alive!"

***

Aww...happy ending? We'll see. –ORS


	3. Autëas (He Fades/Dies)

I hadn't really planned to write this today, but it's a lovely day, there's no school, and I highly doubt that Mainecoon intends to wake up before two o'clock. She deserves some sleep…*smiles fondly*

Anyway, rather than heading for the phone, I'll write this chapter! I've decided to be cruel and nasty and not end this happily just yet. *chuckles evilly* I'll make it all right in the end, on my honor as a devotee of Samfluff, but I fully intend to draw this out as long as I can hold your attention. Or until I weaken and make it happily-ever-after just because I love Sam & Frodo so much. Whichever comes first.

Oh…and also…I have a theory about elves. The only reason they act so high-and-mighty-and-mysterious is because everyone expects them to. I see no reason they should continue pretending to be so all-fired important in Valinor – no one would be impressed, because they're all elves and Maiar anyway. Ergo, the elves are suddenly a good deal less aloof – and their speech is more colloquial. See? –ORS

***

"_Sam_!"

Gandalf looked up from the parchment he had been reading, a look of annoyance on his face. From his seat at the kitchen table in Elrond's home, he could see the front door hanging open, but the hobbit responsible for it was already upstairs.

"Careless hobbit," he muttered, slowly getting up and walking to the door. As he reached for the handle, he heard a joyous shout from the bedroom upstairs.

"Mr. Frodo! Oh, Frodo!"

Peals of merry laughter cascaded down the stairs as the wizard shut the door. He smiled to himself as he shuffled back to the table.

"Silly little things," he muttered, not meaning it at all. "Can't a Maia read in peace?" Taking up the parchment, he sat down and recommenced reading.

A moment later, the door creaked open, slowly this time. Elrond walked in, then jumped back in surprise at the wizard's exasperated look.

"What did I do?" he asked in confusion. Gandalf chuckled.

"Interrupted my reading, that's all."

Elrond snapped his fingers.

"Reading! That's what _I_ should be doing!" He charged into the dining room, where the bookcase full of parchment scrolls stood and gathered dust.

Gandalf laid down his parchment again – _Elf-Fashions of the Second Age: A Beginner's Guide_ – and followed his friend into the dining room.

"What in Valinor are you looking for?"

"Anything about hobbit illnesses."

"Ah. Bottom shelf, to the far right. Everything I've ever known and forgotten about hobbits in six scrolls."

"Thanks." Elrond bent down and pulled out the musty manuscripts, releasing a cloud of dust. With a sneeze and a violent swipe at the swarming dust molecules, the elf unrolled the first of the scrolls. " 'Pipeweed.' Oh, _Mithrandir_!"

Gandalf looked slightly miffed.

"It's a _very_ important topic, Elrond!" he said defensively. "Where would the world be without Longbottom weed?"

"Well, for one thing, we'd have a much crankier wizard on our hands. Which reminds me – the _Alqua_ brought in another few barrels of it."

"Ah, excellent. When is it being brought up?"

"Soon." Elrond inspected the second scroll. " 'Maps.' Not this one." The third: " 'Description of the Average Hobbit.' Not this."

Finally, on the fifth scroll, he found what he sought. " 'Hobbit Ailments, Common & Uncommon.' Aha!" He carefully replaced the other manuscripts and brought his lucky find to a seat close to the light source, the glowing Vilya.

Gandalf walked over and stood close by, reading over his shoulder. Elrond looked at him in irritation.

"Do you mind?"

"Sorry." The wizard moved away. "Have you found anything?"

"Not yet – _ah_!" The Loremaster peered closely at the wizard's tiny handwriting. "I think I've found something."

"What is it?"

"Does 'Seaspell' bring anything to mind?"

The wizard blanched.

"Vanyar preserve us!"

***

Tears fell from Sam's eyes, even as he laughed. Frodo tightened his embrace, weeping and laughing along with him.

"It's too good to be true," he whispered hoarsely. "I thought you were dead!"

"So did I, Mr. Frodo." Sam relaxed in Frodo's loving arms. "I've never been happier in my life."

"Nor have I," murmured Galadriel as she watched them, smiling with pure joy. "Just seeing you two is enough for me."

Sam cocked an eyebrow at the Morning Star.

"Is it? I'll never understand elves."

"There really isn't anything to understand, little master." She smiled enigmatically. "If you know what I mean."

The hobbit shrugged and returned his attention to its former subject.

"You needn't weep any more, master. I'm all right, and so are you."

"You're weeping, too, dear Sam."

"That's true." He laughed again. "I'm so happy, I'm all mixed up."

"I know. So am I." Frodo's smile rivaled the sunlight in brilliance. "Nothing can keep us apart now."

The wizard's heavy tread, and an elf's muted step, sounded on the stairs. Galadriel looked towards the door.

"Come in, Elrond. You, too, Gandalf."

"How did you know we were coming?" asked Elrond as he walked in, followed by Gandalf.

"Lucky guess."

"I always thought it was that mind-speak thing," whispered Sam to Frodo, who stifled a giggle.

"We think we know what ails Samwise," said Gandalf solemnly. The hobbits looked at him quickly.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Frodo, fear creeping into his eyes. Sam buried his face in Frodo's shoulder, trembling in anticipation.

Elrond heaved a heavy sigh.

"It is an uncommon ailment. They once called it 'Seaspell,' but it has been mostly forgotten." His eyes rested on a crack in the floorboards. "Every hundred years or so, a mortal is born with a certain condition. As long as that mortal stays away from the sea, there is no effect. However, if he stays in close proximity to salt water for more than a day, he becomes very ill."

"That can't be right!" protested Frodo suddenly. "That sounds like an old wives' tale!"

"Much truth can be found in old wives' tales," countered the Loremaster. "And _this_ is Gandalf's _research_, my dear hobbit."

"What else happens?" inquired Galadriel, looking anxious.

"Well…" Gandalf fastened his eyes on a knothole on one of the wood panels. "…The mortal usually falls into a coma and dies. If he does not die – if he is restored – he has a little longer to live."

"How long?" Galadriel whispered, looking fearfully at the ashen-faced Frodo.

"Two days at the longest."

Sam's quivering stopped. He had fainted. 

***

Well, here you are…cliffie and all…I've managed, in the process not only to eat a slice of chocolate mousse cake (too good for words), but also to misspell 'Elrond' as 'Elton' once. Whoa…what a day. Time for lunch, anyway.

Poor Sam. We'll see what happens when I get another idea.

Until next chapter, then! –ORS


	4. Nís (Woman [adult female of any sentient...

This is (for those who didn't read the reviews…) dedicated to Morëaiwë, who has left me for a brighter place – namely, Florida. I miss her…*sniff*

You all probably are wondering why I had to introduce a totally random element (AKA a rare illness no one has ever heard of) into the plot. Well, actually, it's not that random. Allow me to clarify…

First off, I needed to explain Sam's illness. I love the sound of 'Seaspell,' so I had a name. Then it occurred to me that this illness couldn't be too common, ergo the rarity. THEN I thought, "Hey, how come only elves – or, rather, immortals – go to Valinor?" Having lost my only copy of the _Silmarillion_, I couldn't go looking for an answer…so I decided that, maybe, the reason mortals so fear the sea is…a certain _risk_…the cause forgotten, but the fear remaining…

Howzat? I rather like it myself. Criticize your hearts out. –ORS

Disclaimer: I don't own one particle of LotR, except for my copy of the books. I _do_ own Seaspell, it being my own creation. I also own the girl Tominë, who happens to be dead (and whose name I invented – it means absolutely nothing, Minion), and the character (though not the name) of Loín Ironlaughter.

***

"Elen?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"How are the halflings?"

"Very quiet."

"Hmm."

"I'm really worried, my lady. What will Frodo do without Sam?"

"Even the wisest cannot tell."

"You've used that line before, my lady."

"Oh. Oops."

***

"Anything?"

"Nothing."

Elrond brushed a thin layer of soot from an old manuscript and scanned the writing upon it. Next to him, Gandalf smoothed out a sheet of parchment and read over it.

"How many of these old things do you have, anyway?"

"Dozens."

"Did you bring anything but scrolls?"

"Not much else. Wizards don't need a lot of luggage, you know."

"Ah." The Loremaster picked up another scroll. "Most of these are absolutely useless."

"I know," admitted the wizard. "I couldn't just throw them away, though."

"Packrat."

"What?"

"Never mind."

Gandalf shook his head and continued reading.

"Oh, here's something – the other cases of Seaspell."

"Let me see."

The wizard handed him the parchment. Elrond read in carefully.

"Hmm…odd…"

"What?"

"There have been twelve recorded cases of Seaspell, but only two victims were revived before their deaths."

"Really? That _is_ odd."

"Apparently, one was a daughter of men, and one a dwarf. The girl was called Tominë; the dwarf's name was Loín Ironlaughter."

"That's helpful," commented the wizard dryly. "Does it say their last words, too?"

"Actually, yes. They were rather cryptic. Tominë said, 'The last light of the sun will shine.' "

"Doubtless. And Loín?"

" 'Upon the third, who shall be the last.' "

"Trust a dwarf to end his life with an incomplete sentence."

"Oh, hush." Elrond put down the scroll with a sigh. "There's got to be _something_ we can use!"

"There has to be." Gandalf's face was grave. "Frodo couldn't bear it."

"I know." The Loremaster picked up another scroll. "Let's get back to work, then!"

***

"Mr. Frodo?"

"Yes, Sam?"

"I'm glad to be here with you."

"Oh, Sam…" Frodo bowed his head. Sam touched his face very, very gently.

"It's all right, master. It's all right."

"No, it isn't." His azure eyes grew watery with tears. "You know it isn't."

"Yes, I know." Sam blinked back his own tears. "But _you_'ll be all right."

"Oh, Sam," Frodo said reproachfully, "do you think I could _ever_ be all right without you?"

Sam tried to say something, but the words died in his throat. He burst into tears, turning his back to his master.

Frodo put his arms around Sam from behind and laid his cheek against Sam's. [A/n: I know it sounds awkward, but I can't think of any other way to describe the position; I've been in it many times with Morëaiwë, and it's actually quite comfortable.]

"Don't cry, Sam; please don't!"

"I don't want to die," he murmured brokenly. "I don't want to leave you…"

"I don't want you to die, either!" Frodo choked back a sob. "I love you!"

[A/n: Han Solo, this is _not_ your fic. Kindly refrain from uttering your clichéd line.]

Galadriel, who had been watching the hobbits from directly outside the bedroom door (where she had remained conveniently unnoticed), now strolled in.

"Do not lose hope, little halflings."

"What hope?" cried Frodo bitterly, releasing his friend and turning angrily. "You _always_ speak of hope!"

"There is always hope," replied the elf firmly. "You did not believe me when I told you, but my words proved true."

"Did they?" Frodo's piercing blue eyes met her level azure gaze. "Two days!"

"Would you rather have had no days at all?" she countered icily. "You have more than you had even hoped for, and still you claim there is no hope."

Sam's small frame quivered as he tried not to cry. Galadriel softened with sympathy.

"I apologize, Samwise," she said gently. "I have never known the fear of death."

"Of course you haven't!" Frodo growled, turning away. "You're immortal. You cannot understand."

"Exactly."

"Then kindly go away and leave us in peace."

After a long moment, Galadriel nodded.

"I will. Namárië." With that, she departed for the lower realms – or went downstairs, if you prefer.

"I'm sorry, Sam," murmured Frodo. "I just couldn't stand another minute with her. She can be so…" He trailed off expressively.

"I know." The words were muted and hinted of tears. Frodo knew that Sam was trying to hide his fear for his master's sake.

"You needn't be strong, dear Sam." He gathered his friend in his arms. "Let me be your strength."

Sam clung to Frodo, sobbing quietly. Frodo put aside his own grief, concentrating on comforting Sam.

"Sam…dear Sam…It won't hurt."

"Yes, it will."

"Gandalf said it wouldn't."

"Not that way, master. Not that way."

"It won't last long."

"Maybe it will."

"I doubt it."

"And you…" Sam looked up, eyes swimming. "What will _you_ do?"

"Carry on, I suppose." Frodo smiled weakly. "I haven't much choice – unless I kill myself."

"Don't!"

"I won't, dearest. If only for your sake, I won't."

Sam nestled against Frodo silently, tears cascading freely down his face. For a long moment, the hobbits just quietly existed together.

"Frodo! Samwise!"

Frodo raised his head hopefully at Gandalf's excited shout. A moment later, the wizard burst into the room, robes disheveled and hat askew.

"We have it! We have it!"

"A cure?!"

"No – not yet – but we know what happened…" He dropped a small parchment onto the bed. "Apacala!"

"Apple-what?" muttered Sam as Frodo snatched up the page and began to read.

" 'Upon all mortals on this day/A lasting curse I now shall lay/If near the sea thou darest go/Death's darkness you shall ever know. Thus shall I punish the mortals who hath done me wrong. Be it known that the wrath of Apacala is not lightly roused.' " He frowned. "Who writes verse in common? Who is this Apacala?"

"Apacala the Shadow-chaser." Gandalf reclaimed the parchment. "Another Maia."

Both hobbits looked mightily confused. The wizard sighed.

"I forgot…you don't know.  To put it simply, Apacala lives here in Valinor." He smiled slightly. "We have a chance."

"A chance?" Frodo's eyes lit up with half-forgotten hope. "You mean…he could cure Sam?"

"Well, _she_ might."

***

Yet _another_ random plot element! Well, how else would you expect me to tie this off? I'm giving Sam a chance here!

…You know, I can't really help it. I love Sam too much to kill him…I think…*wonders* In any case, don't worry. It will be tons of fun to develop Apacala… Her name means 'after light' in Quenya…

So hang on until next chapter. Hope is born anew, and I might even have this poetic Maia get a song involved. *wriggles in delight* I just _love_ writing poems for Samfluff! It's too FUN!!! Cheerio! –ORS


	5. Vanwa (Lost)

Well, I've got Apacala worked out, thank _le bon Dieu_…I've been browsing Agatha Christies again, but fear not, good fans, this is _not_ a mystery! Mainecoon doesn't like detective novels…though I do…*sulks*

Sam's chance…hang on, Sam-lovers! (that actually includes me…what Frodo doesn't like Sam?) I changed the format for a short time, because I got bored. Sorry if it confuses you at all.

Disclaimer: I own Apacala, but I don't own Maiar in general…all the rest of the characters (except Elen, of course) belong to Tolkien, God bless his soul [and curse my moronic computer for not having 'Tolkien' in spell-check!!!].

***

"Do you have to go?"

Galadriel's impassive expression had given way to a look of wistfulness. Gandalf smiled sadly.

"I'm afraid so. Apacala won't come to us, you know."

"We shall eagerly await your return, Mithrandir," said Elrond quietly. "Namárië."

With a wave, the wizard turned and started off upon the forest road, leaning heavily on his staff. The hazy light of dawn cast a rosy glow on both him and the elves watching his departure.

"I hope he finds her in time," murmured Galadriel. Elrond laid a hand on her shoulder reassuringly.

"He will, I'm sure. Has Mithrandir ever let us down before?"

"He once drove off a hobbit with his gloominess."

"Oh, rubbish!"

***

_*He is coming to me…*_

Her eyes, vivid turquoise orbs, lit up with anticipation.

_*Why would he come…unless it were to…*_

Musing to herself, she enrobed herself in an appropriate visage.

_*Has he forgotten? It has been three ages…*_

_*Does he still…?*_

***

"Mr. Frodo?"

"I'm here, Sam."

"I'm scared, master."

"I know. So am I."

"D'you think…?"

"Don't worry, dear Sam. He'll come back in time."

"Are you sure?"

"As sure as I am of anything."

"…Don't let me go, Mr. Frodo…"

"I won't, I swear it. Hold on…"

***

_*Mithrandir…*_

Gandalf whirled around, then regretted it. "Curse these old bones. Who is it?"

_*Gandalf…*_

"Who's calling?"

_*They give you such odd names, old Maia.*_

The wizard started. "Apacala!"

_*Exactly.*_

The forest seemed to darken a shade. Gandalf frowned. "Where _are_ you?"

_*My, my, you've been trapped in that old man's body too long.*_

"Oh, so you won't show yourself?"

_*If you wish me to.*_

A shadowy form appeared before him.

"All the way, please."

_*Very well.*_

Gandalf nearly jumped in surprise. "I say! You've changed your visage quite a bit since I left!"

_*Do you like it?*_ purred the Maia, smiling seductively. Her humanlike form was that of a young woman…a very _attractive_ young woman…in somewhat less clothing than custom demands. _*You would have three ages ago.*_

Gandalf blinked, unable to tear his eyes away from her. "Please, Apacala, I have _business_ with you. A slightly less…er… _distracting_ image, please."

_*Oh, fine! Fusspot!*_ In a twinkling, the figure was modestly robed in white. _*There! Now, what have you to say?*_

"It's about the curse."

Apacala looked crestfallen. _*Is that all?*_

"What did you _want_ me to say?"

She waved her hand dismissively. _*What about the curse?*_

"I want it lifted," said Gandalf firmly. "Now."

_*Lifted? Now?*_ She laughed mockingly. _*Why such demands, Elf-friend?*_

Before he could reply, Gandalf found himself being lifted into the air. "What the…?!"

_*Let us go somewhere else, shall we?*_ cooed Apacala. _*We haven't talked in ages!*_

***

"Elen."

The elf looked up at Galadriel, sadness heavy in her eyes.

"Yes, my lady?"

"Call me the instant Mithrandir returns."

"Yes, my lady. Where will you be?"

"Behind the hill. I need to think."

"All right, then." She added hastily, "My lady."

"Thank you."

***

"Sam?"

Silence.

"Are you all right?"

Silence.

"_Sam_!"

Silence.

"_ELROND_!!!"

***

_*Tea or wine?*_

"Tea. Just for the record, this is absolutely absurd."

_*I know. Two sugars or one?*_

Gandalf shook his head bemusedly. He had been carried away to what appeared to be a rather elaborate tree house, evidently where Apacala lived, and set down on a large white couch. Apacala was currently fussing about with an ornate silver teapot.

"It doesn't matter. Listen, Apacala, we have to _talk_!"

_*I know.*_ She brought over a tray with two teacups on it. _*But pleasure before business.*_

"Rubbish."

She raised her finely-penciled eyebrows. _*Touchy, aren't we? You have been away too long.*_

"Says you." Gandalf refused to take his teacup. "I don't have _time_ for this, Apa!"

_*Ooh, you called me Apa!*_ she squeaked, nearly dropping the tray in delight. The wizard was nearly ready to tear his hair out.

"Apacala Shadow-chaser, I might be forced to _hurt_ you if you don't stop!"

_*Oh, all right.*_ She slid onto the couch besides him, depositing the tray onto the floor. _*What did you want to say? Something about the curse?*_

"Yes. You have to lift it. Right now."

Her slender arm crept around his shoulders. _*Why, Gandalf?*_

He shrugged her off. "One of my friends is dying because of it."

_*Friends?*_ She frowned. _*Really? Since they wouldn't let me curse everyone, only a few mortals ever get it. Are you sure?*_

"Of _course_ I'm sure!" he snapped. "It's the only diagnosis that works!" As an afterthought, he added, "Who's 'they?' "

_*You know. The ones in charge.*_

"Ah." He smiled faintly. "The Valar are infinitely wise."

_*If you say so…*_ Her hand rested lightly on Gandalf's sleeve as she leaned closer to him. _*What sort of friend?*_

"A hobbit," said the wizard, looking much aggravated. "I'm rather fond of him, and of his master. Now, will you _please_ lift the curse?"

_*Perhaps.*_ She slid closer. _*What would you do to earn his life?*_

Gandalf scowled. "What do you want?" he said warily.

_*One thing.*_ She leaned over and whispered something in his ear. The wizard's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"Y-y-you're kidding, r-right?" he stuttered. Apacala grinned at his shock.

_*Come now, there are worse things I could ask.*_

"Name them – no, _don't_." Gandalf sighed. "All right, but only because it's for Samwise."

_*Come on. Maia form, now.*_

"Only for five minutes."

_*No holds barred for the kiss.*_

"You dis_gust_ me, Apacala!"

_*Prude. Hurry now.*_

"By the Valar!" the wizard swore as he began to change form. "That hobbit had better be grateful!"

***

It was nearing sunset. Elen leaned forward and squinted at the figure coming down the forest road.

"My lady! My lady!" she cried. "It's Mithrandir!"

Galadriel, who had long since relocated to the front of Elrond's house, looked up, catching her breath. Sure enough, there was the wizard, hobbling down the path with an odd look on his face.

"Hail, Mithrandir!" she called, standing up and waving. "What cheer?"

Gandalf refused to answer until he had reached the house. As he passed Galadriel, he muttered angrily, "I _loathe_ Apacala."

The Morning Star raised her eyebrows in silent question, but the wizard was in no mood to answer. He burst into the house and stomped up the stairs. Before he reached the bedroom door, however, Elrond opened it and stepped out. He looked startled to see the wizard, but said nothing.

"Do you have _any idea_ what I had to do?" fumed Gandalf. "I had to _change form_ and _kiss_ her. That was just _sickening_. I am never, _ever_–" He stopped short, noticing the hollow look in the Loremaster's face. "What?"

The elf silently beckoned him up. Gandalf, mystified, followed him into the bedroom.

Frodo was kneeling on the bed, cradling Sam tenderly and sobbing. The wizard gasped; Frodo looked up, his azure eyes brimming with tears.

"You're too late," he said softly. "He's dead."

***

*pulling out hanky and sobbing into it* I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Look, see, I've even upset _myself_! *sniff* Give me one chapter to sort this out, okay? And no Sam-lovers flame me, please!!! *wanders off, whimpering*


	6. Lá Firin (Not Dead) [Yay!!!]

Dry-eyed and determined, I begin to write the final chapter in this drama of fanfiction…what can I call it? What name is appropriate among all the Quenya words in my handy glossary? For that answer, see the chapter title.

For whoever it was who liked the 'digs at Galadriel': I detest people who are persistently enigmatic. Otherwise, I'd leave the Morning Star alone. I don't mean to slander Gandalf, either. Anything he did was purely for Sam's sake. And, for pity's sake, don't even _think_ about it.

This took a _lot_ of thought, and I'd be grateful if someone could recommend a place where I can replace all the little fuses in my brain that blew while I was plotting this out. *bzzt* I'm going to eat some candy…need sugar…*bzzt*

***

"But…but…" stammered the wizard, "I paid the price! She said she'd lifted the curse!"

Frodo turned away, still sobbing.

"This is impossible!"

Elrond shook his head.

"This is _wrong_!" Gandalf whirled around and stomped out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Elrond followed slowly, closing the door behind him.

"Where are you going?"

"To the Halls of Mandos!" shouted the wizard, knocking the front door open with his staff and charging into the moonlit night. "To the Cracks of Doom! To the edge of the world! You foolish elf, I'm going to see Apacala!"

***

_*Gandalf? Back so soon?*_

"You no-good lying swindler!"

_*Such language, Mithrandir!*_

"He was dead when I came back!"

_*Oh?*_

"Remember our bargain!"

_*What bargain?*_

"Curse you, Apacala!"

_*How rude!*_

"You promised! You swore to lift the curse!"

_*Did I?*_

"All right, you [**censored**] witch! Come with me – I'll show you what you've done!"

_*Very well. I'll come see this little hobbit of yours. Just watch your language.*_

***

"Elen?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"Who is that?"

"Who?"

"There – with Mithrandir."

"I don't know. She's awfully pretty, though."

"Thank you," said Galadriel dryly. "I could _see_ that."

Apacala was, at Gandalf's insistence, wearing some extremely modest robes, but she had decked herself out in a great deal of flashy jewelry and tied up her dark hair in a silver net. She smiled affably at the elves as the wizard led her – rather forcibly – to the door.

_*What a charming little place! Is it yours?*_

"Elrond's," answered Gandalf shortly. "Come on."

Elen blinked as they disappeared inside.

"Is that Apacala?" she wondered aloud.

"Perhaps." Galadriel smiled to herself. "She doesn't look like much of a shadow-chaser to me, though."

"A wizard-chaser, maybe," conceded her handmaid with a grin. "Or, more specifically, a Gandalf-chaser."

"I pity that wizard."

"So do I, my lady. So do I."

***

Elrond wordlessly opened the door as the two Maiar reached it. The door did not creak, permitting them to enter unnoticed.

Frodo still held Sam's body in his arms, weeping silently. As Apacala and Gandalf slipped into the room, he spoke softly, addressing his dead friend.

"Oh, Sam, it's all my fault! If I hadn't come here, this would never have happened!" He kissed Sam's cold brow gently. "I should never have left the Shire," he whispered tearfully. "I should never have left you."

Apacala gasped, turquoise eyes wide with horror. Frodo looked up with anger and grief in his eyes.

"Apacala the Shadow-chaser." It was a statement, not a question.

_*Yes,*_ replied the Maia needlessly. _*Who are you? You look like an elf, yet you're the size of a hobbit.*_

"Frodo Baggins," replied the hobbit tonelessly. Apacala slowly sank to her knees, face drained of color.

_*I'm sorry! Oh, I'm so sorry!*_ She buried her face in her hands. _*This wasn't supposed to happen!*_

"Then what _was_?!" snapped Gandalf. "You wanted revenge on all mortal beings, didn't you?"

_*Yes…but…*_ she faltered, risking another look at the hobbits. _*But…*_

"You've used curses too lightly, Apacala Shadow-chaser," said Elrond sternly. "What good has it done you?"

For a moment, the Maia could say nothing. Frodo's quiet sobs became audible, heart-rendering for their sincerity.

_*…You're right, I guess*_ Apacala sniffed and brushed tears from her cheeks. _*But what can I do?*_

"Remove the curse, of course," was Elrond's prompt reply. "Let no other mortal suffer so."

Gandalf chuckled mirthlessly. "Isn't that painfully obvious, _Apa_?"

_*That's not funny!*_ She blinked a few times. _*All right. I'll remove that stupid curse.*_

There was a flash of light…a burst of flute music…an A# on a tuba…and another flash.

"There." Apacala whirled around and charged through the door. Elrond started after her, but she disappeared at the foot of the stairs. Gandalf shook his head and walked out of the room without a word. He and Elrond had started down the stairs together when a joyful shout sent them both running back up.

"_Sam_!"

***

"I told you," said Galadriel placidly, basking in the rays of the early-morning sun. "I told you, over and over again."

"Of course you did," murmured Elrond absently. "Now be quiet a moment."

Highly offended, but struggling not to show it, the Morning Star walked back into the house. The Loremaster continued to watch, with a growing sense of satisfaction, the two figures sitting under a spreading oak not a dozen yards from the hill-house. He felt no small pride that he had taken some small part in the bringing-about of this happiness. [A/n: If you caught the pun, it was completely intentional.]

As for Sam and Frodo: they paid no attention to their audience of one.

"Twice!" Frodo was saying, half-laughingly. "Twice you've died now! Two whole times!"

Sam nestled against his master contentedly.

"I promise never to die again," he said contritely. The hobbits laughed from relief and joy.

"Oh, my dear silly hobbit!" Frodo leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes. "I thought I'd never be happy again."

"Do you think I could leave you like that?"

"I'm glad that you didn't – more than glad, much more."

Gandalf leaned out of the bedroom window, watching with his own kind of satisfaction. A bell-like laugh behind him made him nearly tumble out in surprise.

"Curse you, Apacala! Are you trying to _kill_ me?!"

_*No…not really…*_ She smiled winningly. _*I just wanted to see you again. I'm not coming back here again…*_

"Well, good!" was the wizard's prompt reply. "Goodbye, good luck, and good riddance!" He exited the bedroom, leaving her speechless.

From her perch in the tree, Elen observed the hobbits with a bright smile. They had ceased their chattering; now they merely enjoyed the warmth of the sun and the company of each other.

"My own dear Sam," murmured Frodo. "I couldn't have lived without you."

"You won't have to." Sam looked with tenderness at his master. "I'm here to stay. I'll never leave your side again."

Elen sighed happily. "Oh, I _do_ love happy endings!"

***

_Now_ I've finally satisfied Mainecoon, Kora, and all you others who have been begging me for a happy ending. There! Be happy! _I_ certainly am. This stuff is so incredibly fun to write…*giggle* Cheerio! ~ÓRS


	7. Oantes (She Left)

Note: This, my friend, is an epilogue. "They come in epilogues? Then I'm reading one!" (I know, cheap joke! So sue me!)

***

The young woman in the dashing green scarf scribbled the last lines and put down her quill with a sigh. Surveying the paper, she absently began sucking on her reddened fingertips.

"Finished, my lady?" asked Elen, leaning over her shoulder. The girl nodded vigorously. "Excellent. What do you intend to do with it?"

The writer took her fingers out of her mouth and grimaced. "Ugh. I'll _never_ get used to quill pens." She looked up at the inquisitive elf. "Oh, I suppose I'll take it home with me. The world needs good fanfiction."

"Very well, my lady." Elen smiled. "It's getting darker. Shall I fetch the candles?"

"No, thank you. I'll be going presently."

"Won't you say goodbye to the others?"

"If they come in time." She stood up and folded the paper, handing the quill to Elen. "Let's go."

***

"Órëndil!"

The girl turned and smiled. "Ah, caught me!" She bowed. "_Elen síla lúmenn omentilmo_."

"Why, so it does!" Frodo glanced up at the darkened sky, spangled with stars. "Did you think you could leave without a proper farewell?"

Órëndil shrugged. "I've done it before."

"When?"

"Beats me." She turned back to the large tree she had been facing before Frodo's interruption. "I'm just waiting for Carmen to open up the tree so I can go. I have to get this posted before Mainecoon gets home."

"Oh, all right." Frodo sighed. "I wish that you could stay. I find your company-"

"-quite amusing," finished Órëndil with a grin. "Yes, I know, but I _do_ have to go home."

"Not before you explain something," insisted the hobbit. "The last words – what did they have to do with anything?"

"Tominë's and Loín's, you mean?" She chuckled. "Absolutely nothing. False hints. I had originally intended to make them be of some significance, but that would be too predictable."

"Ah."

The tree trunk suddenly sported a large, gaping hole. Órëndil began climbing into it. "See you chaps later, I hope. _Namárië_."

"_Namárië_," Frodo murmured as she disappeared. The tree closed up again, leaving no sign that it had ever been a portal between worlds.

"Until our next meeting," chimed Elen. Frodo looked sideways at her; she shrugged. "Okay, so it's Gandalf's line. So what?"

Chuckling, the hobbit turned and walked in the general direction of Elrond's house. Sam was asleep; Frodo wanted to be there when he woke up.

Elen just looked up at the starry sky, and wondered vaguely what the world would be like without Órëndil Mouseapple.

***

The end. *bows* -ÓRS


End file.
